"This is frustrating." With an exasperated breath, Steve plopped beside me after the dinner rush. His face was hidden behind his palm cage, lending it difficult for me to read him.

"Steve," I placed my hand over his bobbing knee. It relaxed under my hold but he still didn't reveal his face. "What happened?"

I wasn't sure which one of the pricking issues was hurting Steve.

He shouldered the restaurant functioning after Marcy's departure. After her husband's accident, Marcy had taken a leave of absence. With no specific time of her return, the restaurant management had no other option but to replace her with Steve.

Although Steve was prepped to take on any day, his lack of focus and the flying plates across the kitchen were those little hints which revealed he needed easing into the job. Right now, he was only thrust with the responsibility. The man needed a breather.

Which wine paired with what, which reductions to use, who were the important clients - every one of those instructions had Marcy's name on it. Without the Marcy named sun's gravitational pull, we were freefalling, unable to understand what we would hit the ground. Or if we would ever.

Steve was bearing the brunt of it all. Worst, he also had a new sword hanging over his head -Linda's dad.

After a little bit of digging, I found news on Linda's father - Gerald Matthews. Some called him GM, which was not an abbreviation of a motor company but a name assigned to him for his 'general madness.'

Steve looked up from his palm walls, his crimson face watched me. There was only sadness in his eyes, the smile he always had vanished long ago. There was not much I could do for him except to support him with whatever he wanted.

Having taken up the offer at the restaurant Glass and Ice, it was only a matter of time till my support extended to him physically. After that, it was upon Steve and Linda to navigate through the nefarious ways of GM's operations.

I was concerned for these new love birds. They hadn't been able to soar across the sky with the wings of their love stretched out. Linda and Steve were in the nascent state of their relationship. Although the honeymoon phase had its charm, I knew well to not expect them to last long.

Linda was habitual of a flight tendency whenever she felt cornered. While being the opposite, Steve wouldn't take anything laying down. Adding to the pressure mix, the father of the girlfriend, more wicked than any James Bond villain - their future could be predicted well in advance.

"GM sent us a list of dishes he would want to taste before we present it on the menu," Steve grabbled, pulling off the buttons of his uniform. With a defeated exhale, he tucked off his shoes and grounded his feet on the tiles, digging his elbows over his knees. With his head resting on his intertwined knuckles, Steve looked over to my side. "And you are leaving the sinking ship."

I could only raise my hands in defense.

The frustration of a chef when the management tried to intervene in the art of cooking would have anyone toss their apron away and cuss. Steve was better. He only tossed his apron and hurled his shoes at the lonesome door at the exit.

"I can't believe, I now have to please someone's ego. God" Piqued with management interference, Steve tossed the steel chair and helped himself on the metal kitchen table. "Maybe I should resign. Or maybe I should put a dash of Carolina Reaper in his meal and let him suffer."

As much as I loved plotting revenge, after talks with my levelheaded boyfriend, I knew better. "You would be booked for grievous hurt. GM is a lawyer. He'll sue you for all eternity till the heat from the hottest chilly leaves his body."

"At least he won't pick on my work. He already knows I'm dating his daughter. I'm doomed, Daisy."

Steve cry for help wasn't silent and it wasn't a prayer. It was thrashing his hands and feet around like a drowning man, asking for help while trying to stay afloat. It was his final attempt to do something before 'the one who must not be named or abbreviated' showed up.

Drawing a blank on any more reasoning I could serve, I went for actions.

Tugging our foreheads together, I clutched his fists and stood in silence. Steve was right. I was abandoning the sinking ship. Although at that time, I wasn't aware of the doom which Three Aces would suffer at the hands of GM.

"Daisy," I heard a voice and turned to the door. Philip stood at the entrance of the kitchen, holding onto the panels in his hands and his eyes glued to the place Steve and I stood at. "Are you ready?"

"Hi Phil," Steve answered, waving a hand as I rolled my eyes at him. Steve forgot whom he was interacting with. Forgot about Phil's impairment.

Steve shrugged, pouting his lips before emitting a tight smile. He held my steps and pulled me closer to him. Some part of me froze, knowing Philip's intense state towards the area where we stood.

Kissing my forehead, Steve sighed. "You are a good friend, Daisy," he murmured into my skin, being pressed against it with his lips. "Take care."

Not that it was my last day but Steve's words felt like a farewell. My arms coiled around him, with my heart pounding on my ribs, asking me to hold him calm.

"Don't do anything stupid. Okay." I said. He nodded against my hold. "We'll talk tomorrow. You, me and Linda, we'll figure something out."

As I peeled him off my body, I could see the vanquished warrior in him, ready to drop his chef's personalized knife to a side and kneel to the enemy. Before the war began, Steve was close to accepting defeat. It would only be a matter of minutes after GM took over for a bloodbath to occur.

"Hang in there," I said, kissing his cheek. "Just till tomorrow."

His sigh was the answer I got.

~

It was after ten when we reached Philip's apartment. The moment we entered, I tossed my bag and sat in silence, replaying the day in my head.

Philip went over to change and freshen up. On a normal day, I would receive an invitation to join him in the shower with the lovey pretext of saving water. Today, he didn't ask. Even the drive to his place went in silence with him glued to his headphones.

Assuming it to be his tiredness, I went to change. The suffocation of staying in the work clothes after work evaporated the moment I wore one of Philip's shirts. The familiar scent of expensive soap and cologne lingered from the crooks and crevices of the cotton attire. I could feel the remnants of his warmth lingering over me. Caressing me to fall asleep in his lounge chair.

The washroom door at Philip's place was a creaky bastard which always reminded me of all the horror movies I had endured with John. When the eerie sounds played up, killing the silence of the room and the soft nap I slid into, I turned to look over.

Philip looked fresh, like the first snow, emitting a new limey fragrance and standing beside me with his shirtless features on display.

I had half the intention of sleeping off after the day I had. But that thought vanished the moment I saw my man, draped in a track pant and tempting me with his glorious body. Circling my finger into the inner strap of his black tracks, I tugged him closer.

A soft smile on his face indicated he knew well, which part of my body was ruling my thoughts and actions.

"You are awake? I didn't mean to wake you," he said, sliding into the couch beside and unwrapping the morning newspaper.

"Are you alright?" I asked at the sudden display of erratic behavior and mood from him.

If you knew Philip, you'd know he was a man who never deviated from his ways. He portrayed the same reactions, same ways of eating and sleeping. He conducted the same routine day in and out.

For many, it would be a mundane thing. But for me, it all led in a state of awe. I liked the consistency. Stability and repetition. As opposed to my job where innovation was the key, home was a place where I revealed my alter ego. One which loved Philip for everything he did quite opposite of mine.

So today, when Phil drew up his newspaper - which he always listened on his news app for half an hour every morning where he would bridge his eyebrows over the politics segment, lean back in his chair on sports and emit a cozy, heartwarming smile on Page3 news - it stood out like a sore thumb.

"What are you doing?" I asked, playfully pocking through the tent of newssheet he held up in his hands.

"I've got news to check."

Words froze up in my mouth. Philip was reading. Or he was pretending to read.

I slinked off the chair, towering over to witness him run his head, side to side like a typewriter, going from left to right.

"Philip," I called out but he didn't look. Only a soft hum like the bees buzzing nearby. "Please pass me my phone."

He sighed, folding the newspaper in half for the rest of the area to come into view. My phone was on the table. No light, no sounds were emitted. Going back to reading the paper, he tossed a look at the device and grabbed it, lending it over his head.

I didn't take it. I couldn't take it.

All I could see was his hand holding my phone while his head tilted at an angle to read the minute prints with bridged eyebrows.

I was still unsure.

After all, I was in love and any doubt I had about my man would have to go through gruesome standard testing to be shredded to pieces. Maybe Philip was playing with me. Maybe he knew well, the only place I kept my phone was on the table in the hall or the bedside table in the bedroom.

I had witnessed him being observant to sounds before to know which of my things were kept were. If nobody was told, nobody would know that Philip was visually impaired. He never looked two inches above one's head, he would rarely use a cane and most of his memory techniques of counting steps to places worked accurately for him.

But something doesn't fit well. Something, since his arrival from his training, didn't seem right.

"Please, can you check if I have any message from Linda?" I put on a casual tone and asked. My heart halted its beatings as Philip's hand dragged the phone back to his face.

We were at a point in our relationship where we had access to each other phones with face IDs. The last time, I forgetfully asked him to check my phone for a call, I saw disappointment lashed across his face.

Call me sadistic but I wanted to see that same disappointment. I wanted him to unlock my phone and realize his gig was up. That for a moment he had me fooled.

The white screen light illuminated brighter as Philip lent his face for the phone to survey. His eyes reflected the screen, scrolling through my messages. Then a soft click and the lights went out.

He realigned his hand in their previous position, holding up my phone.

When I didn't, he looked up. "Take it."

My lungs might have stayed in some sort of shock for I wasn't getting enough air through my nose. Breathing through my mouth, my mouth dried up. My throat felt a scratch at the back. It was only then I realized, words were trying to scratch their way up.

"You can see?" 

~

And the truth is unveiled. 

What do you think would happen next? 

Why do you think Philip lied?